


Red

by tentainokonton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentainokonton/pseuds/tentainokonton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam’s always been oddly enamored with Zayn’s red varsity jacket. Unsurprisingly, seeing Liam wear it intrigues Zayn, too…among other things</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr in June of 2012.

Liam can’t help but admire himself in the full-length mirror. Zayn’s red varsity jacket fits him almost perfectly, like it’s meant to be. It’s not really Liam’s style, but the idea of wearing such an iconic piece of Zayn’s wardrobe makes him smile wryly.

This isn’t the first time he’s worn an article of Zayn’s clothing. Between the two of them they’ve probably shared a dozen or so shirts and accessories. More diehard fans have noticed and called them out on it.

But this? This would be far too telling.

Liam takes one last look at himself in the mirror, about to unbutton the jacket and shrug it off his shoulders when he hears the door to their hotel room open. His heart plummets into his stomach, because this? He couldn’t be caught red-handed by anybody!

He spins around quickly. His pulse quickens.

It’s too late. This is going to be bad.

“Zayn!”

“The one and only,” Zayn replies, giving Liam a once over. He shuts the door behind him. He raises a dark eyebrow, curious. “Playing dress-up?”

Liam can feel his cheeks flush. What can he say? He’s not good at this aloof thing, not like Louis or Harry. “I—um—something like that.”

“Ten out of ten.”

“W-What?”

Zayn chuckles. He’s approaching Liam, his hands soon coming out and smoothing away some of the crinkles in his jacket. “The jacket. Looks ravishing on you. I give it a ten out of ten.”

Liam’s cheeks are blazing scarlet now. Damn his excitability, he thinks with a quick shake of his head.

“Li, you’re as red as the jacket. Is it cause I caught you red-handed?”

Zayn’s not playing fair. He knows that every mention of the color red is only going to serve to make it worse.

Zayn’s hands move inward, resting atop Liam’s chest. He looks his best friend in the eyes, his own glittering with amusement. “If you wanted to wear my clothes, you just have to ask.” His hands grip more firmly than before. “Gotta say, though…the sight of you in my jacket is getting me all kinds of excited.”

Ah, excitement. Liam’s suddenly more comfortable. That he can handle.

He gives Zayn a playful, coy look, reaching up to grip hold of the other’s wrists. He guides the hands downward, enjoying the tingling left behind by the touch. He leans in, and their noses soon touch. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmm…daresay I just grew a little more excited…”

Is it possible to gain confidence from an article of clothing? Liam swears he’s energized by Zayn’s jacket, swears it’s egging him on. He moves in swiftly, capturing Zayn’s lips with his own. The taste of stale cigarette smoke sours the sensation, however only slightly.

Through a flurry of kisses, he manages to say, “You really ought to stop smoking…”

“Gimme something else to satisfy my oral fixation and I will…”

They move toward the bed in a tangle of limbs, lips locked together. Liam ends up with his back against the hard mattress and Zayn’s warm body pressing atop him. He starts to remove the jacket, only to find a pair of strong hands stopping him.

“No, keep it on. Hotter that way.”

“Fuck, Zayn…”

It doesn’t take long for clothes to fly and for hands to explore. Zayn’s writhing beneath Liam, back arching as deft fingers take hold of his manhood and bring him close to the edge. Liam can feel rough fingers wrapping around him, as well, and together, with mouths and tongues exploring bare, heated flesh, the two fall into ecstasy.

Liam eases himself onto his back to lie down beside Zayn, a tired grin plastered upon his face. An arm snakes around his waist and a nose brushes against his flushed ear. He’s warmer than usual, but wrapped up in Zayn’s jacket, Zayn’s arms—just in **Zayn** —he doesn’t care at all.

Zayn will never be able to look at this jacket the same way again.

And he’s proud of that fact.


End file.
